


Moving Parts

by Louffox



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Cute, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Its mostly just fluff though, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22149019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louffox/pseuds/Louffox
Summary: Prompt: Wilde fixing a problem in Zolf's leg.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 3
Kudos: 61





	Moving Parts

**Author's Note:**

> I'm probably going to be posting lots of these little snippets because this *gestures at sailor dwarf and flouncey bastard man* is ruining me.
> 
> Hey guess what I forgot I worked at a prosthetics lab for a summer and learned just enough to pass as knowledgeable about these sorts of things. Why have I never drawn on this before

Zolf snarled out a curse as he clung to the wall for support. And another when he tried to take a step and slid-buckled down, only catching himself with the wall. He fell, a graceless and undignified slide down the wall, finally dropping on his ass on the floor. Another swear, nothing creative. Just furious and frustrated.

Damn legs.

He grabbed it and pulled, groaned through his teeth and reached up to flip a few snaps, then tried again. It came off with an audible sucking and popping sound, and he threw it against the opposite wall. It clattered to the floor, much like he had.

He put his face in his hands.

“...Zolf? Are you alright?”

“Peachy,” he spat, reaching down to unsnap the other leg, because there was hardly any point in bothering with one. This one, he pulled off more gently, angling it to break the suction from the sleeve and sliding it off smoothly.

“What can I do?”

“Find me a new set of legs. Real ones. Or a body that works. Something,” he said furiously, and then sighed. “Nothing. Not mad at you. One of my legs is all gone to junk. Joint isn’t bending the way it should. I’m getting a ton of hyperflexion. Whole damn thing buckled back like a goddamn ostrich.”

“Why don’t you summon a disk and grab a drink? I got a fire going in the sitting room while you were gone, but I don’t think I did a good job. I’ll grab these, and you check that?”

Damn Oscar Wilde. He was so terribly good at his job, at being diplomatic, at diffusing a situation. And damn Zolf, because he was so terribly in love with him.

“Fine,” he said. He summoned the disk low, just beside him, planted his hands at his sides, and lifted his hips up and onto the disk. Then he instructed it to take him into the other room, unwilling to watch Oscar fiddle with the legs.

After checking the fire and using a poker to restack the wood properly, he felt a bit better. Just as Oscar had intended, he was sure. Still, he couldn’t resent him for it. He was really good at managing Zolf when he was like this, at giving him purpose and a task and something to focus on, rather than pity and coddling.

As if sensing the tension had gone from him, Wilde wandered in, holding one leg tucked under his arm, the other in his hand, and a multitool in his other hand, prodding at the joint.

“Looks like the stance control spring is crushed down a bit. If I can get it out and stretch it a bit, it should work fine again,” he said, not looking up from what he was doing and sitting on the floor at the foot of the couch.

Zolf took a moment to absorb what he said. Or try and absorb what he said.

“The- what?”

Wilde peeked up at him for a moment from beneath long, sly lashes, and went back to turning the tool. “Stance control. It’s what detects where your weight is and decides when, in your gait, it needs to stop moving the lower leg forward and needs to shift it backward. The weight shifts here,” he said, pointing with the tool at one residuum, “and you lift your other leg, and that’s when you start leaning forward in anticipation for the next step. To land on that other leg. But it’s not detecting that properly because the spring isn’t right. Or the sensor. That’ll be a harder fix, though, so I opted to begin with the spring-,”

“ _ Where _ did you learn all this?” Zolf cut him off, incredulous. He didn’t even know that much about his own legs.

Wilde blinked at him. “Well, I researched a bit about proper etiquette with someone who’d had an amputation, when I first hired you. And then- well, when the world started falling apart and I knew there probably wouldn’t be mechanics around, and I was sort of- sort of- when I was realizing I’d fallen in love with you, of course,” he demurred, gesturing and smiling as if it was all some foolish fairytale thing.

Zolf stared at him until he blinked again and turned back to the leg and the tools.

“Anyways. I did some research.”

“Oscar.”

“Mmm?”

“Get up here.”

Oscar gave him a quick look, but pulled himself up on the couch beside Zolf.

He promptly wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him in for a searing kiss.

“I love you too,” he murmured, resting his forehead against his.

“Just promise you won’t pitch a fit and throw me against a wall- actually, never mind, I think I wouldn’t hate that,” Oscar said back with a breathy laugh.

“You really think you can get that fixed?”

“Absolutely. You can heal whatever you did to yourself tearing it off, and I can get this working again, and then we can go and make dinner.”

Zolf winced- yeah, he felt where he’d pulled the prosthetic off badly, yanking at the sleeve and tearing at the fragile skin of his residuum. He began rolling the sleeve off.

“So where did you learn all this?”

“Man’s got his resources. I picked a lot of brains and books. And it really is interesting stuff. I’m surprised you don’t know any of this.”

“I mean- I do.” Oscar turned to give him a look. Zolf grinned. “What, you think I’m that brash? Ignore my own legs? I just thought it was really sexy seeing you do it. And I don’t think I researched nearly as in depth as you did.”

“One hot leg mechanic, coming right up,” Oscar huffed. Zolf couldn’t help but catch his chin again and draw him in for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Send me more prompts because I'm gonna write these two till I die


End file.
